


Jaime Lannister Investigations - Episode 7 of 13

by ShirleyAnn66



Series: Jaime Lannister Investigations [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brief mentions of domestic/dating abuse, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-06 01:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11590056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: Series Summary:The great detective, Jaime Lannister? He doesn’t exist. I invented him. It was working like a charm—until the day he walked in, with his green eyes and mysterious past.Episode 7:Jaime and Brienne have a new understanding of their relationship and a wedding to go to.  Life is looking more and more interesting...until the bride goes missing and they're called upon to find her.





	1. Teaser

Awesome banner by the equally awesome justme. :)

*/*/*/*/*

Previously on Jaime Lannister Investigations:

_“I should...probably...let you get to sleep.”_

_“I should probably let you do the same.”_

_“Good-night, Jaime.”_

_“Good-night, Brienne—_ _Brienne_ _!”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“......this...this..._ _ this _ _can’t go on!  You know where we’re headed if we keep doing this.”_

_“What_ _ this _ _?”_

_“You know damn well what I’m talking about!”_

_“...I know.”_

_“Save yourself while you can, Brienne.  I should leave and never come back and let you get on with your life...but I don’t think I can do it on my own.  You have to tell me—order me to leave.”_

_“Jaime...”_

_“I’m not...my world is complicated.  It’s always going to be complicated and...you deserve more.  You deserve_ _ better _ _.”_

_“...I don’t want you to leave.”_

_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_“I’ll see you in the morning?”_

_“I’ll see you in the morning.  Good-night, Jaime.”_

***/*/*/*/***

Jaime and Brienne see each other the next morning and by mutual, unspoken agreement, act as if their conversation the night before never happened.  Jaime shares the information about Lannister, Kettleblack, Pycelle and Moon Boy, LLP, with Cersei and two days later reluctantly escorts her to her first meeting with the youngest partner of the firm, Lancel Lannister.

Bronna watches him with suspicious eyes for several days until one morning, she finally asks Brienne for the latest scoop.  Brienne blushes and tells her, very primly, that she and Jaime have come to—for lack of a better term—an ‘understanding’.

“‘Understanding?’” Bronna says.  “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Brienne says hastily as her blush deepens.  “But,” she adds as Jaime walks into the office, “Jaime and I _are_ going to Sansa Stark’s wedding together.”

Bronna’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline.  “Really.”

“It’s probably a big mistake,” she mutters as she looks at Jaime and he stops in mid-stride, his welcoming grin changing instantly to a frown.

“Mistake?” he says.

Brienne spreads her hands in a helpless shrug.  “I don’t know how to dance.”

Jaime blinks before a slow, wide grin spreads across his face.  He turns to Bronna.  “She doesn’t know how to dance.”

“I heard,” Bronna says drily.

Jaime gleefully rubs his gold hand and says, “You know what this means, don’t you?”

Brienne’s eyes widen.  “No?”

He leans closer, a wicked gleam in his eyes. 

“It means I’ll have to teach you,” he says, his voice a low, seductive rumble.  Then, brightly, “It’ll be just like _My Fair Lady_!”

“Probably more like _Dirty Dancing_ ,” Bronna mutters and Jaime grins and winks.

*/*/*/*/*

The days slip past, filled with insurance fraud cases, clients with small, easily completed cases, and, to Brienne’s bemusement, a number of dancing lessons after hours in the emptied board room with not just Jaime but also Sam and Bronna.

“Why do _I_ have to learn to dance?” Sam grumbles as he steps again on Bronna’s foot.  “I’m not going to the wedding.”

“Because knowing how to dance is a useful skill,” Jaime says with a grin, “and someday, when you’re wooing the lady—or man—of your dreams, you’ll be able to sweep them off their feet with your skills on the dance floor.”

“Wooing?” Brienne says with a scowl as she tries to follow his lead.  “Is it even still called that?”

Jaime spins her round the room and says, “Some old traditions are worth keeping.”

Bronna winces as Sam steps on her toes again and says, “Wooing or not, it’s also fun, once you know what you’re doing.  We may need to add a Dance Night to our team bonding activities.”  Her phone buzzes with a text and she gives Sam an apologetic smile as she releases him to check her messages.

“Sorry, guys,” Bronna says with a frown as she texts a response, “I’m going to have to cut the lessons short tonight.”

“Hot date?” Jaime says with grin.

Bronna smirks and says, “A girl has to have _some_ secrets, Jaime.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and Brienne talk on the phone every night and while they don’t always discuss their personal relationship, there’s an intimacy to their conversations that warms them both.  They usually call before they go to bed or, when they know they’re going to be out for the evening, before they leave their respective apartments.

Brienne’s trivia night with Bronna is already a tradition although in the weeks leading up to Sansa’s wedding, Bronna spends more and more time with her mysterious new love interest.  She hasn’t told even Brienne much about him but then again, they do have an unspoken pact that, when they go out for the evening, they talk about everything except work and the men in their lives.  Besides, Bronna also hasn’t indicated any desire to share any of the details with Brienne.

Brienne suspects Bronna is close-mouthed at the moment because the relationship is still too new to expose the poor man to her friends and family.  And Brienne is close-mouthed about Jaime because...well...

Because whatever is happening with Jaime is moving at the speed of a glacier and Brienne is relieved and confused and intrigued by it all, and she wants to hold everything in all its delicious uncertainty close within her heart as her own secret for now.  She admits, though, that if it wasn’t for Jaime's flirtatious teasing and the way his eyes burn when he has her in his arms during their dancing lessons, or their nightly phone calls, she’d think she only dreamed their conversation several weeks earlier.

Brienne isn’t ready yet to deal with any more of Bronna’s questions and teasing about Jaime.  Of course, that means Brienne isn’t getting the inside information about Bronna’s new relationship either...

Brienne decides it’s the price she’s willing to pay.

For now.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime, for his part, is torn between feeling guilty for being unable to force himself to allow Brienne to save herself while simultaneously looking forward to the wedding.  Despite the dancing lessons, the occasional night out for dinner and a movie, and the heated way Brienne looks at him when his flirtatious teasing takes a turn towards the serious, he can’t help but think of the wedding as their first real date.

“ _Date?_ ” Tyrion snorts the week before the wedding.  “Have you ever actually dated anyone?  Charmed them, yes, and you may even have fucked them on occasion—although, knowing you, probably not—but _dated_ them?  You never even dated Cersei!”

“How could I?” Jaime asks drily.  “She’s been married for half our lives.”

“You prove my point.”

“I’m not certain what your point is.  Besides, you giving me a hard time about dating is beyond rich!”

Tyrion grins, his mismatched eyes filled with mischievous glee.  “At least I have experience with more than one woman!”

Jaime rolls his eyes.  “As if that’s a good thing,” he mutters and Tyrion laughs.

“Well,” Tyrion says cheerfully, lifting his glass in a toast, “at least you’re not obsessing about seeing Cersei at the wedding.”

Jaime grimaces.  “My only concern about that is what she’s going to say to Brienne.”

Tyrion winces.  “Gods, let’s hope even Cersei knows how to act in public.”

*/*/*/*/*

The morning of the wedding dawns bright and clear and as Brienne nervously gets ready, she thinks that even though the marriage is going to end in total disaster, at least they’ll have a beautiful day for the wedding.

She critically examines herself in the mirror once she’s dressed.

While there’s not much she can do about her features—her face will never be what anyone considers beautiful and her only makeup is some light lipstick—she’s rather cautiously pleased with the way she looks.  The trouser suit isn’t the dress Jaime requested, but she is wearing three-inch pumps and beneath the jacket is a sleeveless halter top that leaves her back bare to just below her waist.

Not that she’s sure she’ll actually take off the suit jacket and she’s not sure Jaime will like it—

She lifts her chin at that thought and glares at her reflection.

She looks great, she firmly tells herself, and most importantly:  she feels comfortable in this outfit.  If Jaime doesn’t like it, well, then he can go jump in the Blackwater.

The apartment buzzer rings and Brienne’s stomach swoops so violently she actually has to close her eyes and breathe deeply to steady her nerves.

She lets Jaime into the building then, when he knocks, she takes a deep breath and opens her door with a trembling hand.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime’s eyes widen as he takes in the long lines of her legs made even longer by her trim, peach-coloured trouser suit and what must be heels at least three inches high, given the way she towers over him.

He meets her defiantly uncertain eyes and slowly grins.

“You look...magnificent,” he breathes. 

She blushes as she gives him a bashful smile and for a moment, he honest-to-gods thinks he’s going to drown in her eyes.

They stare at each other in silence until Jaime starts a little and holds out the bouquet of delicately pretty flowers he brought with him.

“For you,” he says huskily then curses himself for stating the obvious.

She blinks in surprise then blushes even more as she almost hesitantly takes the flowers from him.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice as husky as his.  “Come in while I find a vase for these.”

They make almost-shy small talk while Brienne finds a dusty vase hidden away in the back of her cupboard and Jaime watches her with an appreciative smile.

As they leave her apartment, Jaime thinks that even though Sansa’s marriage to Joffrey is going to end up being a hot mess played out in the tabloids, the wedding is looking more promising by the minute.

*/*/*/*/*

The sept is only half-full by the time they make their way through the varysazzi.  They glance round the sept then take discreet seats in the back, to the side and several pews behind the rest of the guests.

In the half hour before the ceremony is to begin, they amuse themselves by scanning the crowd and pointing out the surprising number of people they recognize.

Stannis and Renly Baratheon along with their respective families are on the groom’s side of the sept.  Even when seen from behind, Stannis and his wife, Selyse, radiate disapproval while their daughter, Shireen, sits with a disconsolate air.

“Or mayhaps it’s just boredom,” Jaime murmurs and Brienne bites back a chuckle.

Renly, meanwhile, jokes and laughs with his husband, Loras, his sister-in-law Margaery, and his grandmother-in-law, Olenna Tyrell, the second richest woman in Westeros. 

The Stark side is filled with people neither Jaime nor Brienne recognize but assume are from the North. 

They’re working their way through the names of all the Northern Houses they can remember when the man sitting just behind the row of seats reserved for Sansa’s immediate family stands and strolls towards the back of the sept.  Their eyes meet for a long moment before he gives them a smirk and a cool nod as he walks out of the sept into the flashing cameras of the varysazzi.

“Looks like Petyr Baelish is back in the Starks’ good graces,” Jaime murmurs, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of Brienne’s ear and neck.

“Was he ever truly out of them?” she whispers back as she tries to hide her shiver.  “Catelyn and Ned never had the same suspicions we did.”

Jaime frowns then shrugs.

They sit in relative silence, watching the waiting crowd.  They exchange observations about dresses and hats and hairstyles while the crowd gradually gets louder and increasingly restless.

Jaime finally turns to Brienne and says, “Is it just me or have we been sitting here longer than thirty minutes?”

Brienne glances at her watch and frowns as she nods.  “The ceremony was supposed to start a half hour ago.”

As if their words have summoned her, a door opens to their right and Catelyn pokes her head out.  They watch her scan the crowd with a worried frown on her face, a frown that turns to relief when she sees them.  She gestures for them to join her and ducks back out of sight.

*/*/*/*/*

They step into a quiet hallway and Catelyn quickly and quietly closes the door behind them.

“Thank gods you sat in the back,” she says.  “We need your help.”

Jaime and Brienne exchange a puzzled glance.

“Why?” Brienne asks.

“Because Sansa is missing.”

*/*/*/*/*


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:**   Brief mention of domestic/dating abuse.  Like, so brief it’s probably not worth warning about…but just in case.  :)
> 
>  **A/N:**   Sorry this chapter took a little longer than expected to get written/finished, and it’s fairly short.  However, I have finally finished the draft of the original novel I’ve been trying to finish for *mumblyyearsmumbly* AND THERE WAS GREAT REJOICING!!!  ;D

***/*/*/*/***

Catelyn leads them to the back of the sept and a small room that looks out on a parking lot.  Inside the room are worried looking Stark men and a smug Arya.

Brienne glances round and says, “What happened?”

“We were getting Sansa ready,” Catelyn says, her hands clutched together so tightly the knuckles are white.  “Ned and the boys were across the hall and Joffrey and his entourage are next door.”  She glances at Ned, her blue eyes wide.

Ned says, “There was…an altercation in Joffrey’s room.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “An altercation?”

Ned sighs.  “Robert’s already drunk, and Joffrey’s not far behind him.  Robert and Cersei got into one of their arguments.  We could hear them screaming at each other even down the hall and through our door.”

“We all rushed out to see what was happening,” Robb says, his face grim.

“Except Sansa,” Arya says.  “She stayed behind and by the time we calmed everyone down on the Baratheon side of this mess, she was gone.”

Jaime nods, a muscle twitching in his jaw, and Brienne glances away, knowing he’s worried about Cersei.

“So, what do you think happened?” Brienne says, her voice calm and coolly professional.  “She got cold feet and ran?”

“We can only hope,” Arya mutters and the other Starks grimace in agreement.

“I’ve searched for a note,” Catelyn says, “but there’s nothing.  She didn’t have her cell phone with her—she _is_ the bride, after all—so no texts or messages.”

“I’ve searched the sept from top to bottom,” Ned says, “and she’s not inside.”

“Jon and Bran and I searched the parking lot,” Robb says.  “All our cars are still here, too.”

“Obviously the varysazzi at the front of the sept saw nothing,” Jaime says thoughtfully, “since they’re still there and not pursuing a bride running away like _It Happened One Night_.”

The Starks stare at him.

“Never mind,” Brienne says quickly.  “Have you searched _every_ room?  Even storage rooms?”

“And what about the basement?” Jaime asks.

“This is a modern sept,” Ned says.

Jon rolls his eyes.  “Nothing but the newest and shiniest for Joffrey Baratheon, the Crown Prince of Rock,” he mutters.

Ned gives him a warning look and says, “Be that as it may, at least there are no hidden rooms or passageways here, and the basement is just that:  a basement.  And yes, we’ve searched all of it and opened every locked door we found.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow and Ned has the grace to flush and shift uncomfortably.  “Desperate times,” he mutters.

Jaime smirks and says, “So what do you think happened?”

“I’m praying to the Mother that she just ran,” Catelyn says fervently, “but...”  She glances at Ned.

Ned scowls.  “I’ve been receiving threats from the Clegane brothers.”

Brienne frowns.  “Gregor Clegane is still in prison.”

“ _Sandor_ Clegane is not, and neither are others in their organization.  They want the charges dropped and Gregor released, or else.”

“But we’ve been dealing with similar threats for months,” Robb says.  “Even before you two broke the Elia Targaryen case, we were investigating the Clegane brothers for a whole host of other crimes.”  He shakes his head.  “We’ve been rattling those chains for a while, though.  We started receiving threats just before we went to the Summer Isles.”

“So, somebody from Clegane’s organization might have seen an opportunity and kidnapped her,” Brienne says thoughtfully.

Jaime glances at the closed window with a frown.  “And was just lurking outside in case they could find her alone?”

Robb spreads his hands in a shrug.  “I don’t think it’s likely, but I also don’t think Sansa would run without leaving us a note.  She’s been bull-headed stupid when it comes to Joffrey, but she would never leave without letting us know.  She wouldn’t want us to worry.”

“What _about_ Joffrey?  Was he with you the entire time you were trying to quell Robert and Cersei’s argument?”

The Starks all frown as they consider the question, and for a moment, the family resemblance is striking, even with their different colouring.

“No,” Arya finally says, her voice sharp and firm.  “I didn’t see him leave, but I remember him coming back into the room.”  She turns to Ned.  “Remember, Dad?  It was right after we were all running round searching for ice and towels and the first aid kit.”

Jaime’s hand clenches into a fist and Brienne quickly says, “Is Cersei all right?”

“Cersei’s fine,” Catelyn says, her voice dry, “the ice was for Robert.  She used his beer mug and knocked one of his teeth out.”

Brienne winces.  She has no love for the drunken lout but she’s had a tooth or two knocked out too and knows how painful it can be.

“All right,” she says, “were you all searching on your own or were you with other people?”

Ned’s eyes narrow.  “You’re not suggesting that one of _us_ would have helped Sansa disappear?”

Jaime grins.  “I have absolutely no doubt one of you would have helped Sansa disappear, but I don’t believe you would allow the others to worry about her whereabouts if you did.”

“Although if she didn’t leave of her own free will...” Brienne says.

“You think one of us kidnapped her?” Robb snaps.  “Ridiculous!  None of us—”

He abruptly stops and, as one, they all turn and stare at Arya.

Her eyes widen then narrow.  “Piss off,” she growls.

“You’ve been arguing with her all morning,” Jon says, “trying to convince her she was making a mistake.”

“So were you!  Maybe _you_ knocked her out and stuffed her in a closet until everybody leaves!”

Jaime turns to Ned.  “You’ve checked all the closets?”

Ned rolls his eyes.  “None of us had anything to do with this.  And yes.”

“All right,” Brienne says, “we really only have two possibilities:  Sansa left on her own accord, or she was taken against her will.”

Arya growls, “Or Joffrey finally went too far and really—”  She catches sight of her family’s faces.  “...oh shit.”

Ned’s face is slowly reddening.  “What has Joffrey been doing to her?” he says, his voice a low, dark growl.

Arya’s eyes widen even more then she ducks her head and mutters, “She made me promise not to tell anyone.”

“Arya,” Catelyn says and Arya’s head snaps up.

“He’s hit her a few times,” she says, almost stammering in her haste to explain, “and he’s always telling her she’s lucky he wants to marry her because she’s too stupid for anyone else.”

“Why hasn’t she told us any of this?”  Catelyn’s voice is deadly in its coldness, and Brienne sees her knuckles are again white, but this time it’s because her hands are clenched into fists.

“She didn’t want to worry you.”

“And how long have _you_ known about this?”

“She only told me this morning!”  She glares at Jon.  “Why do you think I’ve been arguing with her all day?”

Jon rolls his eyes.  “You always argue with her.  How was I supposed to know there was more to it this time?”

“All right,” Brienne says, “this is all useful information but doesn’t really give us any real place to start looking.”

“Maybe start with Joffrey,” Ned says.  “I’ll let you do the questioning.”  He leans closer and growls, “Make sure he knows he’ll _never_ marry Sansa—and if he ever goes near her again, I’ll make sure he suffers ten times more than anything he might have done to my little girl.”

*/*/*/*/*


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Canon-compliant coarse language.  Mentions of domestic abuse.  Not as light and fluffy as I would have liked but the Baratheons are dysfunctional and it shows.

***/*/*/*/***

Jaime keeps his face carefully neutral as Robert, Cersei and Joffrey walk into the large meeting room the septon—now scandalized almost past coherence—shows them.  Catelyn graciously coaxes him away as he begins to intone a sermon about the sanctity of marriage and how it should never be treated lightly.

“Yes, Septon,” Jaime hears Catelyn say as the door closes behind them, “and we are more than willing to pray before the Father and the Mother for however many hours are necessary, but first we have a sept full of guests waiting for a wedding and a horde of varysazzi camped on the steps, and we need to decide how best to manage all of them.”

Joffrey just looks sullen when Ned tells him Sansa’s missing.

“Well,” Joffrey finally drawls, blinking owlishly, and Jaime wonders just how drunk the boy really is, “I think we should at least still have the party.  I mean, it’s already paid for, right?”

Ned’s hands slowly clench into fists.

“Good idea,” Robert booms, his voice slurred both from the beer he’s been drinking and his swollen lips from where Cersei landed the beer mug.  He blinks blearily at Ned and says, “Oh, don’t look so fucking dour, Ned!  Your girl changed her mind; at least she had the grace to do it before the deed was done!”

Cersei straightens, her lips pressed into a tight line, her nostrils flaring.  Robert rolls his eyes then winces as he tries to sneer.

Jaime quickly leans in and says, “When was the last time you saw Sansa?” he glances round the table.  “Any of you?”

Cersei gives him a green-eyed glare.  “She came to see Tommen and Myrcella last night.  She had gifts for them since they were to be among the attendants.”

Jaime’s stomach gives a sudden lurch.  “Oh?” he says and hopes his voice is as neutral as he thinks.  “They’re here?”

“Of course.  They’re in one of the dressing rooms with Septa Tyene.”

He blinks. 

_My children_ , he thinks with a sudden sharp stab in his heart, _right down the hall_. 

This is likely the closest he’s ever been to them; his trysts with Cersei had always been in motels or apartments or in the farthest reaches of Robert’s mansion, as far away from everyone else as they could get.

“Have they been in that room the entire time?” he says.

“Thank the gods, yes,” Robert practically bellows.  “At least they didn’t have to suffer seeing their sweet mother acting like a sour old cunt to their father.”

Ned slams his fist on the table.  “Enough!  By rights, I should be running you both into the station, charging both of you with assault, and reporting you to Child Protection Services!”

Cersei sits up straight and a chill runs down Jaime’s spine at the cold ice in her eyes.  “How dare you?” she hisses.

Ned rakes her with his eyes.  “Money doesn’t buy your way out of everything, Cersei,” he growls.  “The only reason I haven’t already thrown all your asses in jail is because we need to find Sansa, and we’re going to have enough of a fucking media circus without pictures of the three of you doing the perp walk out of the sept!”

That seems to penetrate Joffrey’s alcoholic haze and he narrows his eyes.  “What the fuck have _I_ done?”

Ned’s grey eyes are cold and sharp with rage.  “We know you’ve been abusing Sansa,” he says.

Cersei gasps and puts a protective arm around Joffrey’s shoulders.  “He would _never_ —!”

“Like father like son,” Jaime mutters and Cersei’s head whips round towards him.

“ _Step_ father,” she says sharply, and the warning look in her eyes makes him blink.

_As quick as that blink, he’s back in a hospital in Braavos, Tywin beside him as he looks through the glass at the squalling newborn in the bassinet._

_“I’ll make sure he has a good home,” Tywin says and looks at him with glittering eyes.  “You can both get back to work as soon as Cersei has recovered.”  He leans closer.  “Be more careful next time,” he growls in a low voice, “and learn to think with the head that’s on your shoulders and not the one between your legs.”_

In an instant, the memory’s gone and Jaime’s back in the boardroom of the sept.  He stares at Cersei, his stomach churning. He hasn’t allowed himself to remember their time in Braavos in... _years_ , except to identify it as the beginning of the end of so many things.

He sees Brienne from the corner of his eye and thinks that, as always, Cersei has the most impeccable _fucking_ timing in the world.

He is, however, nothing if not well-trained and gives Cersei a half-smile.  “Stepfather, then,” he says, his voice coolly neutral.

“Adoptive father,” Robert growls.  “He’s my kid in law if not through biology.”  He glances at Joffrey and sighs.  “More’s the pity.”

“I am sitting right here,” Joffrey whines, although the glare he levels on his father should have had the older man instantly dropping dead.

Robert doesn’t notice.  His eyelids are drooping as he slowly slouches in his chair and props his head on his hand.

“Gods damn,” he slurs, “that beer is the strongest shit I’ve ever tasted.”  He pries his eyes open and peers at Cersei.  “Order me a caseload for tomorrow.”  His eyes close as his head slips off his hand and hits the table with a thud.

Jaime thinks he hears Cersei’s teeth grinding in the silence that follows.

Brienne rubs her forehead and Jaime wonders if her head’s starting to pound as much as his.

“For the gods’ sakes, this isn’t getting us anywhere,” she mutters, then gives everyone a long-suffering look as a snore rumbles out of Robert.  She turns to Joffrey.  “We know you’ve been abusing Sansa.  You also abused Bronna Stokeworth during your relationship with her.”  She gives him what might have been intended as a toothy smile but comes across as a lioness baring her fangs.  “I believe you remember how that one ended.”

Joffrey winces as he lowers his hands to protectively cover his crotch.

“Now, we’re almost positive Sansa left on her own,” Brienne continues, “but we won’t be certain until we find her.  When was the last time _you_ saw her?”

Cersei’s gaze is contemptuously pitying as she rakes Brienne with her eyes and for a moment, Jaime wants to reach over and choke that expression off her face.  She opens her mouth and Brienne immediately raises a hand.

“I’m speaking to your stepson,” she snaps.  “He’s old enough to be married; he’s old enough to speak for himself.”

Cersei’s eyes narrow and Jaime’s stomach falls once again even as he bites back the urge to grin proudly at Brienne.

“Joffrey?” Brienne says.

Joffrey blinks owlishly at her.  “I don’t know...a couple days ago, I think.”  He shrugs.  “She told me she was busy with the wedding.”

“Where did you go when you left the dressing room, after your parents’ argument?”

He scowls.  “I went for a piss.  Took forever to find a fucking bathroom in this place!”

Brienne’s expression is skeptical and Jaime ( _Is he my son?_ he wonders.  _Why would Cersei hide that from me for all these years if true?_ ) can’t help but agree.

“Where did you go?” Brienne asks.

Joffrey gives her a long-suffering look.  “I have no fucking idea; every hallway looks the same in this place!”

Brienne clenches her jaw and says, “And you didn’t see Sansa in your wanderings?”

Joffrey rolls his eyes.  “No,” he says, his voice snide, “I did not see my blushing bride during my wanderings.”

Ned almost seems to quiver with rage and for a moment, Jaime wonders if the other man is going to launch himself across the table.

Robert snores, a wet, blubbery sound, breaking the tense silence, and Jaime doesn’t know whether he should wince or laugh or kick the drunken lout under the table.

“Well,” Brienne says coldly, “it’s obvious we’re not going to learn anything else here.”  She turns to Jaime.  “We should go.”

*/*/*/*/*

Cersei follows them from the boardroom and, with a quick apology to Brienne, Jaime follows her into what turns out to be a kitchen.

“ _Now_ do you see what he’s like?” she hisses, her hands frantic on the lapels of the jacket he had put on with such high hopes for his date with Brienne.

He grabs Cersei’s hands and gently holds her away from him before she can do any more damage to the material of his suit.

“Is Joffrey really him?” he asks, his eyes intent as he closely watches her.

Her eyes flicker as she says, “Yes, it’s really him.”  Her smile is thin and bitter.  “Do you think Father knew when he threw me in front of that fat asshole?”

_You’ve been married to that fat asshole for twenty years_ , Jaime thinks, frowning, _and you’ve never bothered to tell me until now?_

“Tywin doesn’t make mistakes,” is all he says.

He glances at the door, on the other side of which he knows Brienne is waiting and probably thinking the worst about what they’re doing in this room.  “I don’t have time now to get into this,” he says.  “I’ll be in touch as soon as I can so we can talk about this.”

“You should have helped me when I asked you,” Cersei says, a warning note in her voice.

He raises an eyebrow.  “I did help you.  Aren’t the lawyers working out?”

She snorts.  “They’re slower than they should be,” she says.

“Well,” he says, strolling towards the door, “I doubt I would be any quicker.  I’ve been many things in my life, but a lawyer is not one of them.”

*/*/*/*/*

On their way out of the sept, Jaime and Brienne stop to speak with Ned and Catelyn.

“Robert’s still sleeping,” Ned says, pulling a disgusted face.  “Joffrey’s not far behind him, singing the praises of that beer all the way.”

“On the other hand,” Catelyn says with a sigh, “a drunken Big Bobby B and the Crown Prince of Rock will at least distract the varysazzi once they realize no wedding is taking place.”

“Good,” Brienne says.  “If you have to, tell everyone Sansa left with us.  If you can, give us at least fifteen minutes to get away from the sept before breaking the news.  We’ll go to your house first, see if Sansa went home.”

Jaime says, “You may all need to hole up somewhere private once the news gets out, but we don’t want the varysazzi hot on our trail until after we find Sansa.”

Ned and Catelyn exchange glances. 

“Go inside the house if you have to,” Ned says.  “If she’s trying to hide, she likely won’t answer the door.”

Jaime nods.  “Use Robert and Joffrey as a distraction.  With that, and luck, we should be long gone before the varysazzi know enough to follow us.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime hands Brienne the car keys with a rueful shrug.  “Even with a head start, I think we’ll need some help keeping the varysazzi off our trail.  Drive to the airport while I call Tyrion.”

She frowns then nods as they hurry as fast as her heels will allow to Jaime’s car.

She’s still frowning as she drives out of the sept parking lot, and she keeps an eye on the rear view mirror while Jaime makes arrangements with Tyrion.

He hangs up and says, “There’ll be a car waiting for us at the airport.  He’ll text us the location in a few minutes.”

She glances at him and doesn’t know if she should feel angry that they’re running around town looking for a missing bride instead of attending a wedding together, or angry because he was holed up with Cersei for a few minutes and came out of the room smoothing the lapels of his jacket, or wistful because she should have known everything with him was nothing but a pipe dream.  Seeing Cersei again, her beauty blinding when seen so close, and then watching him go into that room with her has finally—Brienne desperately hopes—burst whatever bubble she’s been living in these last few weeks.

She glances at him again and admires the perfect line of his jaw and those cheekbones that would make the Crone weep.  She turns her attention back to the road then catches a glimpse of her reflection in the side mirror.

She winces at the sight.

_Idiot_ , she thinks, and wonders how she managed to get so caught up in her illusions that she had actually begun to believe them.

She has a sudden craving for ice cream.

Jaime gives her a questioning look.  She blinks, desperately trying to remember what he’d just told her.

Tyrion.  Car.  Text.  Right.

“That’s quick,” she says and hopes if he hears the tightness in her voice that he’ll put it down to worry about Sansa.

“He _is_ a miracle worker,” Jaime says, his voice dry.  He stares at her while Brienne drives in suddenly awkward silence.

Jaime sighs. 

“This is not how I intended today to go,” he says.  She glances at him and he gives her a rueful smile.  “I was looking forward to seeing how well you’re able to dance in those things,” he says.

She glances down at her shoes and grimaces, hating that she melts beneath such innocuous words, even if spoken in honeyed tones. 

“Probably for the best,” she mutters and tightens her grip on the steering wheel.

He turns in his seat to face her, his handsome head cocked to one side as he silently considers her.

“I didn’t kiss her,” he says and she gives him a startled look.

“I didn’t ask,” she says.

He gives her a half-smile.  “Mayhaps you should.”

She gives him a puzzled look that quickly skitters away from his and decides her best option right now is silence.

*/*/*/*/*

They switch cars and now it’s Jaime’s turn to drive while Brienne gets on her phone to Sam, who’s at the office and who begins pulling CCTV footage from around the sept as they speak.  Bronna, unfortunately, doesn’t answer her cell but Brienne leaves a message, asking if she can get to the office ASAP to help Sam go through the video footage.

There’s no answer to the doorbell or their knocking at the Stark house and Jaime, after a quick look around, goes to the back door.  Within seconds, he’s opening the front door for Brienne.

“You’d think the chief of police would have an alarm system,” Jaime says as he closes the door behind her.

She rolls her eyes.  “They have six huge hellshounds running round the place,” she says.

“Who are also MIA, have you noticed?”

“I guess they didn’t want the guests to fear for their lives when they arrived for the after party,” Brienne mutters, then starts calling for Sansa.

*/*/*/*/*

They quickly confirm the house is empty and they slip out and head to their office, where they find Sam has the sept’s CCTV footage queued up and waiting for them.

“There’s no camera that faces the back of the sept—at least none I’ve found yet,” Sam says.  “This is from a camera on the sept itself, looking out at the back parking lot.”  He nervously glances at Brienne then quickly looks away.  “It shows us something, anyway.”

He hits play, and they watch as a car—dark blue, non-descript, heavily tinted windows—drives into the parking lot.  Several minutes later, Sansa appears and runs towards it.  She clumsily clambers in, struggling to quickly pull her long train inside.  She shuts the passenger door and the car peels out of the parking lot.  Not even five minutes later, Petyr Baelish jogs across the parking lot, gets into a car and, he, too, peels out of the parking lot, in the same direction as Sansa’s car.

Jaime and Brienne sit back in their chairs and frown.

“The license plate on Sansa’s car is obscured,” Sam says.  “I’m trying to enhance the picture to see if I can make something out.”

“Can you make out who’s behind the wheel?” Jaime asks.

“Not yet.  Again, I’m trying to enhance the picture, see if I can see anything through that tinted glass.”

“Still,” Jaime says, leaning back, “at least we know she left of her own accord...but what the fuck is Petyr Baelish doing?”

Brienne’s face is grim as she shakes her head.  “I don’t know.  Sam—”

“I’m already downloading CCTV footage from around the sept.  I’ll figure out which way they went—but it’s going to take time.  Another set of eyes would help.”

“I haven’t heard from Bronna yet,” Brienne says, “but with luck, we’ll find Sansa before anyone has to spend hours scouring through boring video.”  She turns to Jaime.  “It doesn’t look like she was forced to leave but mayhaps we should go talk to Sandor Clegane, just to be sure.”

He nods, frowning.  “Baelish worries me.”

“He worries me, too.”

*/*/*/*/*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**   I debated long and hard about the Joffrey reveal.  I’ve been waffling about that moment and whether I should keep it (and if yes, when to reveal it), or if I should just let the idea go.  I’ve obviously made my choice, and all I can say is there really is method to my madness…but you’ll have to keep reading the series for the payoff.  ;)  (Or, you know, not—entirely up to you!!)


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Canon-compliant coarse language.

***/*/*/*/***

Sam shoos Jaime and Brienne out of his office so he can begin downloading more CCTV footage.

“I should have named my agency Plausible Deniability,” Brienne grumbles.  “The gods know I hear it often enough.”

Jaime chuckles.  “Sam’s just trying to protect you.”

She sighs. “Mayhaps; but what do _we_ do now?”

Several salacious suggestions flit through Jaime’s mind, some of which he’s almost hopeful would have been possible if their date hadn’t been derailed.

“Well,” he says, “we may as well talk to Sandor Clegane.”

“Sansa left willingly,” Brienne says with an adorable scowl, and Jaime almost laughs out loud at his own thoughts.

“But we don’t know if it was her idea,” Jaime says, “or if Sandor Clegane is more devious than we know.  You’re the one who taught me to follow every lead, and the Cleganes are a lead, even if a very remote one.”

Brienne considers his words, her scowl deepening before she nods.  “I suppose if nothing else, we can tell him to stop threatening the Chief of Police.”

*/*/*/*/*

When awake and upright, Sandor Clegane is even more intimidating than expected.  He watches them with a permanent, contemptuous sneer on his scarred face while they ask if he knows Sansa Stark.

“Of course,” he rumbles.  “She’s here practically every night with that little shit she’s marrying.  What about her?”

“She’s missing,” Brienne says.

“Really?  When?  Weren’t they supposed to get married today?”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “A follower of celebrity gossip, are you?”

Sandor rolls his eyes.  “Fuck me, I can’t escape it!  That son-of-a-bitch is in here almost every night, being a royal dick to everyone and their dog, including his ‘beloved’.  I’d gladly throw his body in the Blackwater myself just to get him and the varysazzi that are on him like flies on shit out of my bar except it would bring the Gold Cloaks and every one of his stupid little groupies down round my head.  ‘Crown Prince of Rock’ my sweet arse!  I’ve had that brainless little bird of his sobbing in my office more times than I care to remember, blubbering on and on about this bleeding wedding.  Don’t tell me she finally grew a spine and left the fucker?”

“That’s what we’re trying to discover,” Brienne says, her voice cold, her eyes watchful.

Clegane frowns.

Brienne says, “Chief Eddard Stark and the Gold Cloaks have been receiving threats for the last few months as a result of their investigations into your family’s business interests.  The threats have escalated since your brother’s arrest.”

Clegane stares, his permanent sneer becoming more pronounced.

“So what?  You think I kidnapped that stupid child on the day of her wedding?  What did I do?  Lurk outside their house, hoping no one would notice me while I waited for an opportunity to grab her?”

Jaime spreads his hands in a shrug.  “We need to investigate every lead.”

Sandor rolls his eyes.  “I have not been sending threats to Eddard Stark, and I’m not a fucking lead.  I’ve been here all day; you can check with the staff.”

“Because obviously they can safely tell the truth,” Brienne mutters, raising an eyebrow.

Clegane glares.  “The DragonPit is a legitimate business, Ms Tarth; it would be in your best interests to remember that.”

Her gaze never wavers.  “You expect me to believe you have not been threatening Eddard Stark and his family?  Forgive me if I remain skeptical.”

Sandor’s eyes narrow then, to her surprise, he booms a harsh, barking laugh.  “You have guts, I’ll give you that.”  He leans forward, his eyes boring into hers.  “I’ll only tell you this one more time:  I have not been threatening Eddard Stark or the Gold Cloaks and I had nothing to do with the disappearance of Joffrey’s fluttery little bird.”

“And your... _staff_?” Jaime asks.  “Those who might be interested in helping you get your brother released from prison?”

Clegane barks his laugh again.  “It’s likely Gregor himself who’s behind the threats.  I sure as fuck have no desire to see him released from prison.”

Jaime and Brienne exchange a glance, then Jaime says, “Whatever happened to brotherly love?”

“How’s this for brotherly love?” Sandor growls and points to the scars on his face.  “The cunt can rot in prison for all I care.”

“Dangerous opinion when your brother has not yet been convicted of anything.”

“His DNA is all over that poor bitch,” Sandor says flatly.  “He’ll be convicted.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne calls Catelyn on their way back to the office.

“The news is breaking on social media now,” Catelyn says, “and the varysazzi are camped on our front lawn.  When you find her...”

“We’ll do our best to keep her hidden for as long as possible.  Still no message from her?”

“None.  She doesn’t have her phone, of course, but I hoped she would have found somebody somewhere who would let her use a phone.”  Catelyn sighs.  “Petyr’s out looking for her, too.”

“Petyr?  Petyr _Baelish_?”

“Yes.  He had to leave the sept before the ceremony; some sort of crisis at work.  He just saw a raven that the wedding was called off and called to check on us.  I told him not to worry but he’s insisting on at least cruising round the sept in case she’s still in the neighbourhood.”

“Right,” Brienne says slowly.  “Good plan.”

“I’ll text you his number; maybe you can check in with him and share whatever progress you’ve made.”

“Of course, Catelyn, we’ll do that.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime says, “Why didn’t you tell her we know Baelish left to follow Sansa?”

Brienne frowns, shaking her head.  “We don’t really have proof of that, and…”

“And no one believed us about his involvement with Jon Arryn’s murder.”

She nods.  “And no one believed us,” she says and turns to stare out the car’s window.

*/*/*/*/*

Sam thankfully has good news for them when they arrive back at the office.

“I managed to pick up Sansa’s car right away,” Sam says, “and I tracked it to the Hook.”  He pulls up a map of the city and zooms in to neighbourhood in question.  He points at the screen.  “They pulled off somewhere between here and here.  I’m downloading and scanning the street CCTV footage within a three block radius but I haven’t caught sight of it again.”

“Well,” Jaime says, clapping his hand on Sam’s shoulder, “this at least gives us a place to start looking.  Our only other option would be to wander the streets of King’s Landing asking if anyone has seen an auburn-haired bride of one-and-twenty running away from her own wedding.”

Brienne rolls her eyes, and says to Sam, “What’s in the area?”

“Hotels, mostly.  Some coffee shops and restaurants.  Bars.  A few convenience stores, that sort of thing.”

“Thanks, Sam.  Gods only know what we would do without you.”

*/*/*/*/*

“This is _really_ not how I imagined we’d spend our time together today,” Jaime grumbles as he slowly drives them round the neighbourhood, scanning parking lots as they go.

“Well, how much fun would we have had, really?” Brienne says absently peering intently out the passenger window.

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. 

“I taught you to dance, Brienne, just so we _would_ have fun.  Although I suspect we would have been able to entertain each other well enough without that.”

Brienne slides him a rather shy glance then turns away to continue searching for Sansa’s car.

He sighs and wonders how long it’s going to take to repair the damage his brief conversation with Cersei has caused, and badly damaging the revelation about Joffrey is going to be, once he tells Brienne about it.

He glances at his gold hand and his lips twist.

As if he doesn’t have enough secrets already.

Brienne sits up straight and points at the parking lot of the Vale Hotel.  “There!  I think.”

*/*/*/*/*

The car definitely looks like the one that Sansa left in, and when Jaime and Brienne inspect it more closely, they see the license plate is smeared with mud.  Jaime sacrifices his pocket handkerchief to wipe the plate clean and Brienne takes a picture of it before they go into the hotel and walk up to the front desk.  The hotel clerk is young and crisp, his name tag proclaiming “Welcome!  Call me Podrick!” in overly bright, cheerful letters.

“Did this young woman check into the hotel today?” Brienne says and shows him a picture of Sansa that Catelyn had sent them.  “She would have been wearing a wedding dress.”

He looks from Jaime to Brienne and swallows nervously.  “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Well,” Jaime says, “can you at least phone the room she’s in?  Just tell her Ned and Catelyn want to hear from her.”

Podrick’s look is still nervous but now it’s long-suffering as well.  “I can’t do that, either,” he says.  “Do you have a name I can search?”

Brienne glances round then leans closer.  “Sansa Stark,” she says.  She shrugs at Jaime’s disbelieving look.  “It’s worth a shot,” she says.

Podrick taps at the keys, peers intently at the screen, then shakes his head.  “Sorry,” he says with a shrug.

“All right,” Jaime says, holding out his hand for Brienne’s phone, “how about calling the room this car is registered under?”  He rattles off the license plate number.

Podrick’s eyes narrow and he opens his mouth.

Brienne leans forward, her eyes intent.  His eyes widen and he gulps a little as he seems to truly register her height and bulk for the first time. 

“Look,” she says, trying to sound as sincere and harmless as possible, “we don’t even need to speak to her.  We just want to make sure she’s all right and ask her to call her parents.”

Podrick blinks rapidly and says, “I—I just started my shift a half ago and I honestly haven’t seen anyone arrive in a wedding dress.”  He blinks again and turns to his computer.  “What’s the license number again?”

Jaime repeats it and Podrick enters it into the computer.  He frowns at the screen and shakes his head.  “We don’t have that car registered here.”

Jaime and Brienne deflate.

They thank Podrick and turn towards the front doors.

“Well, they must be around here somewhere,” Brienne says.

“Or they drove away in another car.”

Her shoulders slump.  “Or they drove away in another car, just like we did.”

He nods.

She sighs then catches a glimpse of an auburn-haired woman dressed in white slipping through a door to her right.

She grips Jaime’s arm, nods towards the door and says, “I think I saw her.”

Jaime follows closely behind as she hurries to the door.  They step into a hallway, with overly bright, cheerful signs pointing the way to the hotel’s pool and gym.  The hallway they’re in turns left, but the door prior to the turn is slowly swinging closed.

Jaime sprints down the hallway and catches the door before it finishes closing.  They walk in to discover the gym, small and windowless, but clean, brightly lit, and mirrored to give guests the illusion it’s larger than it truly is.  It’s also empty.

Brienne inspects the women’s locker room and returns, shaking her head.

Jaime shrugs.  “Well, we can’t leave any stone unturned,” he says and goes into the men’s locker room, only to discover that it, too, is empty.

Brienne sighs.  “It probably wasn’t even her,” she says glumly. “The woman I saw was still in white.  Sansa’s probably changed by now.”

Jaime shrugs.  “We couldn’t just ignore it, either.  Let’s check out the rest of the hallway; mayhaps she went to the restaurant.”

Jaime gives Brienne his most encouraging smile as he puts his hand on the door and pulls.

The door refuses to open.

He pulls again, frowning.

“Maybe try pushing,” Brienne says drily.

He rolls his eyes but gives the door a push.

Nothing.

“Stop playing games, Jaime, we don’t have the time,” Brienne snaps.  She reaches past him and tries the door herself.

It refuses to budge.

“Well, shit,” she says, staring at the door in disbelief.  “Do we need a pass card to get out, too?”

They inspect the door and the wall around it, then scan the entire gym. 

“No card reader,” Jaime says.  “No unlock button, either.” 

They stare at each other for a long, silent moment before Jaime slowly gives her a wicked grin.

“Looks like we’re trapped for the time being,” he says and leans closer, his eyes gleaming, “and _all alone._ ”

*/*/*/*/*


	5. Four

***/*/*/*/***

Brienne’s eyes widen then narrow in a scowl.  “This is no time for your teasing, Jaime.”

He raises an eyebrow and if anything, his grin turns even more wicked.  “Who says I’m teasing?”

She rolls her eyes and turns away to more closely inspect the gym they’re in.  “We need to find a way out of here.” 

She glances at him over her shoulder to find him staring after her with the air of a dejected puppy. 

“Oh, please,” she growls, rolling her eyes again.  “Besides, now would be a very good time to prove you’re more than just a pretty face with a bad reputation.”

He immediately lights up.  “You think I have a pretty face?”

“ _Jaime!_ ”

“All right, all right,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender.  “Just find me a lock to pick, and I’ll have us out of here in no time.”

That makes her stop in mid-stride to stare at him.  “You brought lock picks to a _wedding_?”

He glances up at the corners of the room, and she realizes he’s checking the locations of the security cameras before he grins and prowls towards her. 

“I’ll show you a little secret,” he purrs and she can’t help but gulp a little as that purr seems to vibrate all the way through her.  She feels a flush start from the soles of her feet and crawl its way up her body.

He doesn’t seem to notice her heated skin as he shows her the palm of his gold hand.  Then, with the air of a magician doing a trick, Jaime carefully rubs the base of his gold thumb.   Brienne gasps as the palm pops up slightly.  He lifts it to reveal half a dozen short and slender lockpicks of various sizes, nestled in the palm of his hand.

Literally.

Her jaw drops and her eyes widen.

He grins and shrugs.  “Not my full arsenal, of course, but enough to get by in an emergency.”  He turns back to the door and eyes it critically.  “Of course, having a lock to pick is always a plus.”

“Is this how you broke into my car that time we were chasing after Arya?”

He laughs.  “The Stark girls have certainly kept us on our toes, haven’t they?  At least we haven’t ended up in the river...yet.  Anyway, about the car:  yes and no.  There are a couple of other surprises hidden in this hand.”

She holds out her hand.  “May I?”

He hesitates for a split second then walks closer and rests his gold hand on her palm.  She’s keenly aware of his steady gaze as she peers more closely at the hand and its hidden treasure.

“That’s incredibly clever,” she murmurs.  She closes the compartment then inspects the palm, shaking her head.  “You can barely see the seam.  Was this Tyrion’s idea?”

“I do occasionally have a good idea of my own,” he says.

She glances at him and time stutters to a stop as she’s caught by the intense heat in his green eyes and the expression on his face. 

“Brienne...” he breathes, and her breath catches as he eases closer, then closer still.

“I must admit, this is different for me,” Jaime says as tilts his head up in invitation, his smile gently teasing, “I’m usually the taller one.  Then again, without those shoes, I think this will be much easier.”

Brienne stands frozen, as mesmerized as a rabbit watching a snake.  Not that he’s a snake, a dim part of her mind gibbers, but he _is_ sleek and beautiful and oh-so-dangerous to her and yet she still just wants to get closer.  Jaime slowly cups her cheek and raises himself on his toes, his eyes never leaving hers as he lifts his mouth towards hers.  She sways towards him—and her movement in the mirror catches her eye and she sees her reflection (red face and freckles and broken nose and hulking shoulders that are broader than his) and instinctively startles away with a hasty step back, his hand slipping away from her face.

Jaime rocks back on his heels, blinking.

“We don’t have time for this,” she mutters, her cheeks burning hot, and wonders where that confident woman from just a few hours ago has gone.  She’d met Jaime at her door with such high hopes for the evening and now she can’t seem to escape the truth of her she can see in the mirrors of the gym.

She ducks her head and turns away, the memory of Cersei’s beauty as blinding as the sun.

She clears her throat and turns to face him with a determined smile.  “We _really_ don’t have time for this; Ned and Catelyn are waiting for us to find Sansa and we’re stuck—”

Her phone rings.

She stares at Jaime, who stares back, one eyebrow slowly inching higher.

“Right,” she mutters, her cheeks burning even hotter, something she hadn’t thought was possible, “I have a phone.”

“You have a phone,” he says, his voice a dark, rumbling purr.  “A phone that’s still ringing, by the way.”

“Right... _right!_ ”  She fumbles it out of her pocket and sees it’s Sam. 

“Sam, thank gods.”

“Just checking to see if you’ve found the car,” Sam says cheerfully.

Brienne pinches the bridge of her nose and curses herself for getting so distracted. “We did.”  She turns and glares at a silently laughing Jaime, who’s pulled his own phone out of his pocket and is pointing at the wall behind her.  She turns and bites back a groan when she sees the discreet sign with the number for the front desk.

“Brienne?”

“Yes— _yes!_   Sorry, Sam.  Yes, we found the car, and Jaime will send you the license plate number as soon as he gets off his phone.”

Jaime nods at her words.

“In the meantime, the car’s in the parking lot of the Vale Hotel but it’s not registered here, so...do your magic?”

“Will do,” Sam says.

Jaime ends his call, texts Sam, then slips his phone back into his pocket and says, “I suppose you’re going to say that this is why we should never get distracted while working a case?”

Brienne blushes, a hot fiery red.

“Well, it won’t happen again,” she says as the door unlocks.

“Of course not,” Jaime murmurs and follows her into the hallway.  He nods his thanks to Podrick and hurriedly takes his place at Brienne’s side.  “Just for the record,” he says, “I would have eventually managed to rescue the fair lady all on my own.”

“Well, I’m still not sure Sansa needs rescuing—”

“I wasn’t talking about Sansa,” Jaime says wryly, and sighs.

*/*/*/*/*

They reach the lobby and are met by an anxious hotel manager, who, along with Podrick, apologizes over and over about the gym door somehow locking behind them.

“We’ll look into,” the manager says, wringing his hands.  “I promise, it will not happen again.”

“No harm done,” Jaime says as Brienne’s phone rings.

“It’s Sam,” she tells him and leaves him to continue smoothing things over with the hotel.

“You are not going to _believe_ who rented that car!” Sam bursts out as soon as she answers, his voice high and excited.  “ _Bronna!_ ”

Brienne stops in mid-stride.

“ _What_?”

“ _I know!_   I couldn’t believe it either, but it really is her!”

Brienne takes the phone away from her ear and stares at it as Jaime strolls up.  She shoves the phone against his chest, and growls, “It’s fucking _Bronna!_ ”

She turns away to pace the small hotel foyer, muttering curses beneath her breath, barely registering the low rumble of Jaime’s voice as he talks with Sam.

Jaime puts his gold hand on her arm as she circles him for the third time, still cursing.

“Thanks, Sam,” he says, “I’ll tell her.”

He ends the call and she takes the phone back with a glare.  Jaime walks her out the front door and steers her towards their car.

“They left the hotel not quite ten minutes ago,” Jaime says.

Brienne grits her teeth against the urge to scream.  “So, they just walked right past us in the lobby?”

Jaime shrugs as they reach the car.  “Sam hasn’t gotten that far yet; he’s still on the footage from the exterior cameras.  But judging from the timing, we might have already been in the gym.”  He opens the car door and says, “Petyr Baelish was about five minutes behind them.”

*/*/*/*/*

Brienne calls Sam again once they’re in the car.

“I’m done running round this city,” she says.  “Track Bronna’s fucking cell phone, and tell us where she’s heading.”

“Track Baelish’s phone, too,” Jaime calls over.

Brienne flashes him a glare from angry blue eyes.  “Did you hear that, Sam?  Yeah, I’ll text you the number in a minute.  Thanks.”

She ends the call and texts Baelish’s number to Sam then turns to Jaime and says, “Do you think we got locked into that gym by accident?”

Jaime sighs and shrugs.  “It seems unlikely,” he says, “but would Bronna really do something like that to you?”

“No,” Brienne says immediately, “and if she would _answer her fucking phone_ , I’d be able to prove it!”

Jaime holds up his hands in surrender.  “I’m not doubting you—or Bronna!” he says, soothingly.

She glares.  “That’s not how it sounded!”

“You’re right,” he says, “but we have four choices about who locked us in:  Sansa, Bronna, Baelish, or it really was an accident.”  He starts the car then gives her a helpless look.  “Any suggestions about where to start looking?”

Brienne is already dialing.  “Catelyn?” she says and now her voice is smooth and calm.  “Hi, yes.  We’ve found the hotel where we believe Sansa changed clothes, but she was gone before we saw her.  Have you heard anything from Petyr Baelish?”  Brienne flashes him a speaking look from magnificently angry eyes.  “No?  And you haven’t heard anything from Sansa, either?”  She listens again, then says, “We’re not far behind her and we should catch up with her soon.”

Brienne ends the call then scowls at her screen.  “Message from Sam,” she says.  “They’re heading towards the airport.”

*/*/*/*/*

They’ve gone from one end of the airport to the other before they finally catch sight of a familiar, self-satisfied face, strolling towards them from the chartered flights terminal.

Bronna gives them a surprised smile as they fetch up in front of her.

“Hi,” she says.  “What are you guys doing here?”

*/*/*/*/*

“She’s gone to Winterfell,” Brienne says to Catelyn as they follow Bronna back to their offices.  “Bronna Stokeworth arranged for her father’s pilot to fly her there.  Sansa wanted to get as far away as fast as she could from Joffrey and the resulting varysazzi feeding frenzy she knew was going to happen.”

“Why didn’t she tell us where she was going?” Catelyn says, her voice clogged with tears.

“Bronna swears Sansa left a note in the dressing room, telling you where she was going.  Maybe it got missed in all the confusion?”

“Maybe, but Sansa still should have called to make sure we knew where she was going.”  Catelyn sighs.  “By the Seven, when I catch up with that girl...thank you, Brienne.  For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Brienne says.  “Oh, Catelyn?”

“Yes?”

“Have you heard from Petyr?”

“Oh, gods—that’s right!  I’ll phone him right now; let him know everything’s all right.”

Brienne ends the call and stares thoughtfully out the window.

“Has she heard from Baelish?” Jaime asks.

She shakes her head.  “Maybe Bronna can tell us what that was all about.”

*/*/*/*/*

Bronna scowls at them, a glass of Northern whiskey in front of her on the boardroom table.  “Petyr Baelish had nothing to do with any of it,” she says, flatly.

Brienne sighs and rubs her aching forehead.  “Just...tell us what happened.”

Bronna takes a sip of whiskey and says, “I ran into Sansa a few weeks ago, at the DragonPit.  Joffrey was being an ass—as usual—and I walked in on her crying in the bathroom.  I told her who I was, and that she could call me any time if she needed to talk or if she needed help.  She called me a few days later and, well, the poor girl really is a bit too...”  She frowns, thinking.  “Timid isn’t quite right; polite, maybe?  Or maybe she just didn’t want to admit she’d made a mistake?”

She shrugs.

“Anyway, Sansa felt like she had no choice but to go through with the wedding:  it had all gone too far; she’d defied her parents in order to marry Joffrey; he’s the famous Crown Prince of Rock and how would his fans react; and so on and so forth.  I couldn’t convince her to call it all off before today, although the gods know, I tried.  I finally told her I’d be at the back of the sept in case she decided she couldn’t go through with it.  So I booked the hotel and arranged with my dad’s pilot to be ready to fly to Winterfell today as soon as he could get clearance, just in case.  I rented the car last night because I knew the varysazzi would be all over me if they knew I was at the sept.”  She grimaces.  “The Crown Prince of Rock’s ex showing up at his wedding?  Gods!”  She shudders.

“So, I waited in the back parking lot and I was shocked as all seven hells when Sansa jumped out the window!  She said hearing the Baratheons scream at each other in the next room was the breaking point.”  Bronna frowns.  “She said she left a note.”

“They didn’t find a note,” Brienne says, her face grim.  “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I was busy!  Sansa was a nervous wreck the entire time, so I spent most of my time just keeping her calm until the plane was ready and I could throw her on it.”  She frowns again.  “If I’d known they didn’t find the note...”

“And what about Baelish?” Jaime asks.  “Where does he come in to all of this?”

Bronna shakes her head.  “Sansa and I didn’t really talk to anyone other than each other until we got to the airport, and even then, we only talked to airport staff and the pilot.  I don’t really know what Baelish looks like, but if Sansa saw him anywhere, she never mentioned it.”

They turn as Sam walks into the boardroom.

“Hey,” he says, sinking into a chair with a sigh.  “Two things:  it was Petyr Baelish who locked you into the gym; and he was on a plane to Winterfell about an hour after Sansa left.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Thank the Seven for Petyr!” Catelyn says, and Brienne thinks she sounds exhausted.  “He was lucky enough to be able to get a seat on the very next flight out.  He’s gone to Winterfell to look out for Sansa until we can get there tomorrow morning.”

“Of course,” Brienne murmurs.

“He’s such a dear, dear friend—he’s been wonderfully supportive since Lysa—”  Catelyn abruptly stops and Brienne can hear her pull in a deep breath of air.  “He’s been so kind,” she murmurs, her voice breaking.  “I’ll be forever grateful.”

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**   I swear to the gods, I’m now thinking of naming my NaNo2017 novel “More than Just a Pretty Face with a Bad Reputation” because...well, I just love that line a LOT.  I mean, I have no idea for a plot, but what a great title, right?  Right???  ;D


	6. Epilogue

***/*/*/*/***

Jaime drives Brienne to her home where he parks then turns off the car while she watches him with a frown.

“This has been a very odd day,” Jaime says with a sigh and rubs the bridge of his nose.  “And not at all what I was hoping for.”

Brienne’s mouth turns down at the corners.  “No,” she says, glumly.

Jaime takes a deep breath, looks at her with serious eyes and says, “I think we need to talk.”

To her shame, she turns craven for a moment, and opens her mouth to say she doesn’t know what he’s talking about or they can talk on the phone later tonight or just an outright no...

“Yes,” she says, and gets out of the car.

*/*/*/*/*

She’s soaked with nervous sweat by the time they get inside her apartment, where she drops her keys on the table beside the door and leads the way into the living/dining room.  She strips off her suit jacket as she goes and sighs with relief as the cool air hits the over-heated skin of her bare back.

Jaime makes a small noise and she frowns at him as she drapes her jacket over a chair.  He’s watching her with dark eyes and a pained half-smile and she abruptly remembers he’d hoped she’d wear a backless dress to the wedding.

Suddenly she’s burning hot again, this time with embarrassment.

His smile turns wry.  “Now I’m _really_ sorry we never made it to the dance,” he says and prowls towards her.

She ducks her head and edges away.  “It’s not a dress,” she blurts then mentally kicks herself.  She forces herself to stop moving and look him in the eye.  “Would you like something to drink?” she asks.

He considers her thoughtfully, then says, “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

He looks over at the flowers he had brought her, sitting in a mason jar in the centre of the dining room table.  He gently touches the petals of the flowers and his lips twist.

“My life is complicated,” he says, his voice low.

“I know,” she says.

He huffs what might be a laugh and says, “Probably better than most.”  He looks at her and shrugs.  “Cersei just made my life a whole lot more complicated today and—”

“She’s pregnant.”

“What?  Good _gods_ , no!”  He looks suddenly ill as he shakes his head.  “No, she’s not pregnant.  But she still complicated things even more than they were already, for reasons I’ll share when I’m not desperately trying to salvage _something_ of what I had hoped would be a memorable and romantic first date.”

She blinks owlishly at him.

He gives her a half-smile.  “Don’t look at me like that; you knew this was supposed to be a real date.”

She blushes and ducks her head, looking at the flowers he had brought her earlier.  She, too, reaches out to delicately rub a velvety petal.  She chews on her lower lip, then flashes him a quick look from the corner of her eyes and nods.

“You _were_ looking forward to it, weren’t you?” he says, almost wistfully.  “I think we were still on the right track before I stepped into that kitchen for five minutes to talk to Cersei.”

She frowns and nods again.  “It sounds so stupid when you put it like that...” she mutters.

“I don’t blame you for being wary, Brienne,” he says, taking a step closer, his green eyes intent on her face.  “My life is complicated—for more reasons than just Cersei!  Trust takes time and it’s only been what?  Six or seven months?”

She nods for a third time.

“I don’t blame you; I’m just...”  He sighs.  “I was looking forward to the evening, and you really look _fantastic_ in that outfit.”

“I’m ugly, Jaime,” Brienne says, her voice flat.  She lets go of the flower petal and abruptly turns her back on him, suddenly all-too-aware of her naked back and how ridiculous she must look.

“Well, you’ll never win any traditional beauty contests, no,” Jaime says.

She turns and glares and to her horror, tears prick at her eyes.

He shrugs.  “I’m not going to spin you pretty tales that you know are lies, Brienne.  You deserve better than that, especially from me.  You have a beautiful soul and a kind heart.  You treated Jon Arryn more kindly and mourned him more sincerely, I think, than his own friends and family.  You have eyes worth drowning in, and legs that go on for days and are absolutely killer when seen in a short skirt and high heels.  And your back is as gloriously sleek and sexy as I imagined.”

Brienne is staring at him now, her mouth hanging open.

He moves closer and says, “You may not be a beauty queen, but you’re still beautiful, and I truly, sincerely mean that.”

She blinks owlishly as he steps closer still and tilts his head back to gaze up at her.  She wonders if he can hear her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest as his words sink into her mind and she struggles with how impossibly handsome he looks and the warmth she can feel radiating from him.

“Kick off those shoes, Brienne,” he says, his voice dark and husky.

She gulps.

“I—I—I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she whispers.

“I think it’s a spectacular idea,” he murmurs, leaning closer.  He brushes his chin against her bare shoulder, and she shivers at the light tickling of his whiskers against her skin.

His lips follow the same path as his chin, so lightly she giddily wonders if she’s only imagining the brush of his lips.

He carefully puts his arm around her and flattens his palm against the middle of her broad shoulders then slowly slides his hand to the small of her bare back, leaving flames and shivers in its wake.

“Jaime,” she whispers, and her voice is breathy and sweet as if she were a much prettier and feminine woman.

She feels his smile against her shoulder even though his lips are barely touching her.

“Take off your shoes, Brienne.”

There’s one last moment of panicked sanity, telling her to step away, to break free of his light grip and put him firmly back in the only place that’s safe for her...and then he once again brushes his chin against her shoulder, and his fingers stroke a soothing circle against her bare back, and she crumbles.

She tentatively puts her hands on his biceps and he leans back and looks up at her.

Blinking nervously even while holding his gaze, she carefully slips first one foot and then the other out of her high heels and lowers herself to her normal height.

Jaime’s expression is very serious as he looks at her and she blushes, wondering if he’s been playing her for a fool.  Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she ducks her head, praying the floor will open up and devour her.

Then his hand leaves her back and he cups her face, his fingers tangling in her air, and she startles a little at the first brush of his lips against hers.

The kiss is not at all what Brienne expected:  gentle, coaxing, and almost unbearably _sweet_.  None of her few awkwardly uncomfortable experiences felt anything like this.

The kiss slowly ends and Jaime leans back, searching her face, his expression very serious.  Then a gentle smile curves his handsome mouth.

“See?” he says softly.  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She blinks and wordlessly gives a tiny shake of her head.

His smile widens before he leans in and kisses her again.

#####


End file.
